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A Poem: Turkish Coffee is my cup of tea

Turkish Coffee is my cup of tea; it’s bitter, it’s sweet, and generally
Approaching it one sip at a time; the taste that lingers, is simply divine.
This cup in my life plays a key role; keeping me grounded, leaving me whole.
Not just a cup but a metaphor; for travel adventures, just through the door.
Embracing unknown, mysteries to greet; head and heart strong, with firmly placed feet.
Into the fray. Trouble and strife. Ditching my comfort; embracing my life
With a goal in mind. A will of steel. Approaching hurdles, with laughter and zeal.
Why do I do it? Does it make sense? The “It’ll be easy” is just a pretense.
No matter what greets me; good, bad or wise. I’ll open my soul, my heart and my eyes.
Good memories linger, lifting me up; like the grounds in my coffee, they’ll stay in my cup.
Years from now when I’m glancing back; challenges faced, will all fade into black.
What will remain and I’ll not forget; is the weird and wonderful people I met.
A market man, who smiles with his eyes; his hands caked in dirt, then wiped on his thighs.
Both gnarled and rough he waves them about. Then a smoke-clad voice delivers his shout.
Groups of fisherman untangle nets, prepare their boats by sweeping their decks.
Visit the tea house, plotting their day; give me a glance, but-have nothing to say.
The dolmus driver sat at the front. The questions I ask, are met with a grunt.
When I need help, he’s there by my side; he says “no problem”, his chest puffed with pride.
Eat at a cafe. Head in a book. I raise up my eyes for barely a look.
Glancing up say “thanks” with some grace; the child delivering, licks snot off his face!
Next door neighbours encouraging death; of garden poppies I love with each breath.
They lend me a shovel a pick an’ a rake.  I kill off these “weeds”, for good-neighbor’s sake.
Inviting me round. Then serving food. No words of English; a jovial mood.
Giggle and laugh, charades being played; pointing at things, we’re not able to say.
I’d rather these memories to pack my soul, than a empty suitcase, playing no role.
A wandering nomad, a constant flitter, my life like coffee; is strong sweet and bitter.
The lingering taste, on the tip of my tongue. Sweetens my mood; keeping me young.
This vessel of memories pulled from my day; leave hurdles forgotten, and banish the grey.
Being consumed one sip at a time; I’m living a life, that’s simply divine.
Enjoying the bitter, as well as the sweet. Retaining memories, of those that I meet.
Written by Roving Jay and Featured on:
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